Lester was alone tonight, so he had a few more freedoms than he would in company. He cooked a simple meal, a childhood pleasure -- scrambled eggs with cheese on toasted bagels. He let the vinyl version of the Stone's Let It Bleed reverberate loud around his apartment. He was going about in sweats and a frayed t shirt.
He hadn't drunk anything for 3 months; he'd felt the need to....shall we say, get a grip of himself. Now he allowed himself a bottle of smooth red.
He wandered around the space, padding across the carpet in bare feet. Paintings by friends were straightened at last, newspapers put into the recycling.
Last, he did something he would never let anyone else see. He went up to the mantelpiece, and picked up an award trophy. Holding it with both hands, he stared into it. Then he dusted it clean on his sleeve. He repeated this exercise with the other 2 statuettes, and placed them back in position.
His phone pinged with a text alert. He ignored it, and went to his wine glass. He took it to the kitchen and poured in the last of the bottle. After a while he walked to the phone, and flicked to Messages. 'Lawyer' was the last entry. Lester's thumb jabbed the screen, and up came 'Your divorce is legally final at 10 am tomorrow. You're free bud.'
He went up to the windows overlooking the river, and stood watching out for a long time. Lights, and life, slowly flowed in front of him. He finished the wine, and sighed. He murmured to the waterfront below, 'Well world, that's the last time I'm gonna get fucked over.' He took himself up to bed -- he had a big job in the city tomorrow morning.
He walked up from the station into the bustle. At a street wagon he bought a coffee, and rang the buzzer of the tall building. Going up in the elevator he brushed some curls back from his face, and the door slid back to reveal the sleek brick and wood workspace. The model-type behind the front desk recognised Lester, and cheerily waved him down towards the studios.
He greeted old friends and newer associates on today's project. He was 4 minutes early. He settled into a deep swivel chair in front of the mixing desk next to the sound engineer, and waited.
Time edged on, they made small talk. People came in and checked that everyone had drinks. 10 minutes went by. Then 20. With the sighs of agitation from the 6 people in the room growing, 40 minutes came round. Somebody was paying for all this. Still, the all-important client hadn't arrived. Lester had already asked the engineer to call the studio they'd be linking up with to explain the situation.
Lester's phone pinged. With nothing better to do, he checked it. The Lawyer again...'Congratulations.'
So....that was that. 11 years of his life, signed off on the dotted line. After a moment, he turned it off.
As he was returning the phone to his jacket, the studio door burst open. Lester wasn't looking behind him, but he certainly heard the fired-up angry female voice bawling out 'Where's the damn copywriter?!'
The studio hushed. Lester slowly revolved his chair towards the noise. 'Well, I'm the......damn copywriter. Good morning....who are you may I ask?'
She strode up to Lester's chair. 'Exactly you asshole....why haven't you answered any of my calls?'
Taken aback, he hesitated before replying, 'I haven't had any calls.'
'Oh really' she trilled sarcastically. She flipped out her phone, looking at it with a confident leer. 'What's your number?'
'716, 812, 7790.'
She stared at her screen. Her face lost some of it's rigor. She turned from him, and punched keys on the phone. A few seconds later, her sharp tones filled the studio again.
'Hey Louise, you fucked up on the copywriter's number. It's 7790, not 7791. I've been calling for days, no wonder he's sat here not knowing what the hell is going on. Clear out your stuff sister, you screwed up bad. Goodbye.'
She turned to stare at him again. He could hear her breathing through her nose. He took stock of her - power suit, model hair, dominatrix shoes.
He had to break the icy air. 'I'm sorry, but are you involved with the Mercedes commercial we're recording?'
'Involved?' she boomed. 'This is why I was calling you. I'm the new head of marketing in this territory, and we have to change the fricking script!'
Lester let a couple of beats go. 'What happened to Steffan?'
She snorted. 'By now you can probably read it in the financial pages. A few, er, personal problems came to light 2 days ago, and he had to vanish. I'm April Jones, I'm in charge now. So, this goddam script?'
Lester looked up at her calmly, even though she was pretty much in his face by now. He felt sad about Steffan; that was one clever guy, plus a joy to work with. And had this nightmare in front of him just fired someone over the phone?
'Well April, the 'frickin script' has been approved right up to board level, we've all been working towards this for months. In fact, we're late for our link to London. The actor is waiting for us to dial in.'
'Oh yeah, the
Brit
. That's another thing I'm not down with. Listen, the people we're trying to talk to...'
Calmly Lester cut her off. 'This is the 3
rd
in a series of commercials that's designed to run until late next year. We're half way through telling a story, and Michael Lamb is the voice of the campaign. We can't stop this now.'
She shooed someone out of a chair, rolled it to him, and sat. She turned back to the person she'd just evicted and announced, 'You. Get me an iced water. Just water and ice, no fricking fruit, ok?'
Spinning back to face Lester, at last she talked a little quieter. 'Story? See that's my problem. We're selling cars guy, duh? People don't need fairy tales....tell em to get down to the showroom and sign. We're
selling
cars. And remember, it's me that's signing the cheques now.' She crooked her head and flashed her best sarcastic smile.
Staring into her eyes, Lester ran through the possibilities of who she had to be fucking at HQ to have got this job. And he couldn't help but dwell on that 'duh?'
His voice lowered. 'April, do you realise that guy you just ordered to get you a drink is my Deputy Head of Design. Oxford graduate, talented kid.'
'Today you all work for me; he better get used to it.'
Dark thoughts clouded across Lester's mind. He tried one last thing. 'You do know a lot of these cars retail for like, a hundred thousand dollars yeah?'
She let out a bored sigh. '5,000...a 100,000? It's the same deal. Trust me, in business you just take no prisoners honey.' He calculated that she was at least 10, maybe 12 years younger than him.
Lester looked down at the floor, gathering his mind. Glancing up, he half whispered 'April, I need to talk to you outside.' He raised himself to full height, and paced to the door. He didn't wait for her, just walked out into the corridor.
A while later, she appeared. Her heels tic-tacked across the oak floor. 'Lester, right? I do hope we're not gonna get off on the wrong foot here?' She crossed her arms and stood against the wall opposite, her eyes challenging him.
He looked down at her, studying the contours of her face. She was pretty, but probably kept a small army of helpers busy making sure she looked flawless.
